


Bittersweet

by XiWritesThings



Category: the GazettE
Genre: Angst, M/M, and chocolate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 03:14:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11327520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XiWritesThings/pseuds/XiWritesThings
Summary: This wasn't the kind Valentine's Day Aoi had hoped for.





	Bittersweet

Three days after Valentine’s. Aoi was late, but that was on purpose. He fiddles with a small heart-shaped box in his hands—three chocolates were left inside it. He’d just eaten one. _That_ wasn’t on purpose, but his nerves had got the better of him on the way here. It was early afternoon, and with most of the world at work, he felt like he was standing on this doorstep in a deserted town. No one to see him here, not that they’d question what he was doing there in the first place.

Ringing the doorbell, Aoi clears his throat and shuffles his feet. Really, he shouldn’t be here at all. Not now, not for this. But despite his best efforts to shake it, he’s stuck with this bleeding heart. Maybe he’s a masochist, to torture himself like this. He just couldn’t help himself.

After a moment, the door finally opens, and Aoi can feel that damn bleeding heart clench within his chest. The way it always does when he sees him--his match, his companion, his partner in so many ways… but never the way he aches for the most: Uruha.

“Aoi! Hi,” he looks surprised. He shouldn’t be. This visit is annual, like clockwork. Three days late.

The smile Aoi gives him his brittle, “Hey.”

“Uh, come in,” Uruha tells him, slippered feet shuffling aside so Aoi can squeeze through the door. They’re face to face, chests almost brush. They both clear their throats, eyes averted as Aoi slips off his shoes and steps into guest slippers. There’s a smaller pair beside them, trimmed in pink. Aoi’s eyes linger on them, chest aching. _Those belong here,_ he reminds himself, _and yours are for the guests._

They both remain silent through the formalities. Uruha opens two bottles of beer, hands one to Aoi. They sit together on the couch, and share a few drinks. Uruha asks about Aoi how he’s doing. Aoi returns the questions. What’s new? How’re you? How’s the wife?

 _Wife…_                                                                    

Another clench of Aoi’s bleeding heart. If he wasn’t careful, there wouldn’t be anything left for it to bleed out. It’d wither up, dry as dust, barren as the desert. He nods at the appropriate times in Uruha’s answer, as if he actually heard a word he said. He didn’t, though.

“Aoi,” Uruha sits forward, setting his beer on the coffee table. He rests his elbows on his knees and his tone is serious, but gentle. Aoi picks at the label on his bottle, avoiding Uruha’s eyes like a child in trouble. Uruha tries again, voice still soft, “Aoi… What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know,” he answers.

“You know you shouldn’t be here,” Uruha says, carefully prying the beer bottle from Aoi’s hands and setting it aside as well.

“I know,” Aoi sighs, nodding. He can feel the other man’s scrutinizing gaze. Collecting the little box he’d sat beside him on the couch, he too sits up straighter, and offers it to Uruha with both hands, his head bowed. “Uruha, I brought you Valentine’s chocolates. Please accept them.”

“Aoi…” Uruha’s tone is now regretful, that soft, sorrowful tone just before an impending rejection. _Don’t do this to yourself_ , it whispers, but all Uruha had said was his name. _Don’t make me do this to you._

Tears prick at Aoi’s eyes. He doesn’t want to cry—not here. Not with an audience. But they are there, hot and stinging and he curses their presence. Bowing farther, Aoi practically presses the little box into Uruha’s hands. “Please. I know you won’t give me any in return, just… please, accept these and enjoy them.” _The box is my heart. My affections. My love. Please accept it._

A few moments pass, neither moves. Neither says anything. As the seconds tick by, Aoi can feel himself closer and closer to breaking, those agonizing seconds in which Uruha decides his fate. He shouldn’t entertain this—he has a wife that he adores. The leftovers from their Valentine’s dinner were still in the fridge. Photos of them, of their wedding day, scattered around the room, watching this exchange. He _should_ have slammed the door in Aoi’s face--but Uruha is not a cruel man, so with a somewhat grave expression, he lets soft fingers brush Aoi’s as he gently takes the box from his hands. Aoi nearly collapses when the weight of it leaves his grasp.

He’s still too afraid to raise his eyes, but he can see in his periphery Uruha’s deft fingers opening the little box. Undoubtedly he noticed the missing chocolate; Aoi expects to be teased for it, but it never comes. He hears Uruha sigh, and his own breathing has stopped as he sees Uruha pick up a chocolate. To his utter surprise and disbelief, Uruha presses this chocolate into Aoi’s hands. Head snapping up, Aoi’s glassy eyes search the other’s face. _He gave one back._

“This way we’ll both have two,” Uruha says softly, “Equal, as always.”

A shuddering breath escapes from Aoi before he can stop it. Uruha picks up another candy, and-–in under any other circumstances, what would be considered a playful gesture—taps his to Aoi’s as if they were clinking glasses for a toast. Eyes locked, they both take a bite, and chew in silence.

Though they’re quality confections, Aoi can barely stomach it. Sweetness meets his tongue, for just a moment, before the dark chocolate melts into the lingering bite of bitterness. Suddenly regretful, of his choice to come here, of putting them both in this impossible situation, Aoi’s face twists with emotion, eyes screwing shut as the tears finally slip free. Everything he ever wanted is sitting before him, sharing the chocolates he’d given, and it’s nothing but a hollow dream. His hands ball into fists, clenched white-knuckle tight against the flood of emotion he’s trying to force back down.

It’s then that for the second time, Aoi is completely and utterly surprised, to feel the press of warm, plush lips against his own. His eyes fly open. _This can’t be real._ But it is real. There he is, the man of his dreams, kissing him ever so softly. Aoi’s entire body shudders with the gravity of the moment, and his eyes slide shut once more to enjoy it. Those soft lips move against his own, but he can’t will himself to respond, even when a curious tongue dips between the seam of his lips.

The kiss is everything he could have ever hoped for: loving, and delicate, and sweet. Those few moments are complete and utter bliss.

But then…

He can taste it. The bitter remnants of the chocolate they’d just shared, lingering on Uruha’s lips and tongue, reminding him that the sweetness only lasts a moment and soon he’ll be left with nothing but bitterness and Aoi _hates it._ Tears are still rolling down his cheeks. He doesn’t even notice when Uruha stops kissing him.

As gently as he’d kissed him, Uruha goes to caress Aoi’s cheek, but Aoi wrenches his head away as if he’d been slapped. They sit in tense silence until Aoi is able to quell the tide of emotions. When he looks back up, his eyes are hollow. As hollow as the chocolate shells. As hollow as his dream of a romance with the married man before him.

“Happy Valentine’s, Uruha,” he chokes out, barely more than a whisper, “I should go...”

Unsure what to do, or how to help, Uruha simply nods. The two walk back to the door, where Aoi slips back into his shoes, pained gaze lingering a little too long on the pink slippers again. Uruha sees him out the door, and pauses before he can shut it all the way, catching the other man’s gaze one last time.

 “Happy Valentine’s, Aoi.”

**Author's Note:**

> Um. Oops?


End file.
